The Unauthorized Biography of Harley Quinn
by GothamCity.Harlequin
Summary: “A controversial tell-all of how a once doctor of psychology turned into a patient within the very Asylum walls she was assigned to work.”
1. Gone

**Title**: The Unauthorized Biography of Harley Quinn  
**Rating**: M  
**Plot**: When an ad in the newspaper for an unauthorized biography of Harley Quin is discovered and the writer and publisher end up missing, it is up to Batman to follow the crazy clown girl's trail, who happens to also be followed by the Joker, looking to settle some business with her. Can Batman reach her before it's too late for her and the innocents? Can Joker get to her before she's safe from his grasp within Arkham's walls thanks to the Dark Knight? Read and find out...

--  
"HARRRLEEEEY!" the Joker screeched at the top of his lungs as he walked out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but his confetti-coloured boxers and a sock on his left foot, which had not been pulled on the whole way.

No answer.

"HARLEY!" he attempted again.

"She's – she's not here, boss," Murphy managed to sputter out sheepishly.

With an eyebrow raised and lips pursed tightly together, the Clown Prince of Crime turned to his loyal subjects, his muscles, his guns, his – two lackies. They were sitting at a shabby, stolen table playing poker, just two of them: Murphy and Rocco.

The rest of them must've been out hot-wiring whores, fucking cars and whatever else morons like them found themselves doing on a Thursday night, the Joker concluded. It didn't matter though. He could buy and sell a million of those goons but there was only one Harley Quinn – who knew where the hell his vest was.

"What do you mean she's not here?" he snapped. "We've got a heist in three days, and I certainly didn't kick her out – yet."

He eyed the two baboons sitting in front of him and felt the need to snap their necks. No, admittedly, he did not believe it would improve the situation or the mood he was in but it always surprised him they've lasted a year and a half with him. That was way past retirement age when it came to his gang.

"She just left," Murphy answered. "She didn't say nuttin'; just mumblin' some mumbo-gumbo to herself. We jus' figured yous two had a fight or sumtin'."

"Murphy, my boy," the Joker said as he looked tenderly at him, moving closer to hold his hired-help's face in his hands. "Did you hear me yelling last night?"

"No?"

"No? Hm. Well, did you hear Harley's blood-curdling screams or furniture being thrown around with a few sprinkles of thumps and shatter glass in between?"

"Gee, boss," Rocco suddenly jumped in with a smutty grin, "we can never tell by that if you're havin' a fight or just havin' sex."

Before Rocco could even blink, searing pain boiled within his thigh, which was promptly followed by the feeling of warm blood gushing. He looked down – he'd been shot. The Joker had pulled Murphy's gun out of the holster and shot him. _Son-of-a-bitch_.

"You might wanna get some ice on that, Roc," quipped the Joker before turning his attentions back to Murphy. "Sooooo, as I was saying before I was so _ruuude_ly interrupted – did you hear _any_ of that?"

"No?"

There was a pause as the Joker considered his words carefully.

"THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THINK WE HAD A FIGHT!?" he hollered, smacking Murphy in the face before kicking the chair back and leaving a resounding echo of the splintering chair and crack of Murphy's head on the cement ringing in the room.

"Imbeciles," he muttered, storming off to Harley's bedroom, leaving the two idiots to nurse their wounds.


	2. An Unauthorized Biography

Her room was still almost pitch black despite it almost being noon; curtains drawn against the windows, lights completely out, there wasn't even a funny-scented candle that she usually had lit. It was oddly quiet and still.

With just a single step in through the doorway, Joker suddenly found himself on the floor, face up to the ceiling and legs sprawled out in awkward angles. "What the hell?" he groaned, rubbing his head and sitting up.

Looking around where he fell, he noticed the shredded news paper pages flung around all the room. Some had random squiggles of crayon that had been drawn, underlining potential heists, victims, triumphs over Batman and little squiggled hearts where his name had been mentioned.

There was a particularly funny caricature of a strangled Batman done in blue pen, the Joker noticed by his right foot. He picked it up and looked at it a bit, giggling to himself before stuffing it in his pocket to burn later. Maybe he'd use it to help light a cigar later while Harley was around.

Harley…

It then suddenly occurred to him what he was doing in the room. His vest was missing and that little brat wasn't there to tell him where she had put it. What the hell was the matter with the girl? Ripping up papers and throwing them all over the room as if she were having some sort of party without him… Oh, she was definitely in a surprise when she comes home.

Standing up and flicking on the light, he took a look around the room. Newspapers. Everywhere… He was certainly not going to clean this up.

His brown knitted together unpleasantly and walked over to the closet, which was empty as usual, only carrying a couple dresses she owned for when he actually took her out for something or other. No use looking in there. The dressers were even less help though, as he opened and closed each drawer to find nothing inside.

Wait.

Where was her make-up? Her costume? Her purse? Her stupid pink dress?

He growled as he looked up to her dresser mirror, finding a note scrawled by Harley in her black lipstick.

_I'm really sorry, Mr. J.  
I have some personal issues to take care of.  
I'll be back soon as I can._

_Love,  
Harley_

There was a small black dot at the end near her name, which the Joker assumed to be the smudge of her lips, where she had kissed the mirror. Pathetic. Oh well. She was gone. He couldn't find his vest, but he had others, and as long as he good night sleep it shouldn't –

Wait.

_PS:  
I borrowed some cash.  
__I'll pay you back._

His shriek startled Rocco and Murphy who had just settled back down into their game; cards few all across the floor and the sudden start made the table wriggle, which allowed the chips to follow the cards down. They jumped to their feet as soon as they saw their boss running into his room to get dressed screaming, "that dirty, ungrateful little bitch!"

Appearing not even two minutes later, completely dressed, pomp perfectly done up and shoes tied, standing in front of them, they saw his hand gun rise up, drifting slowly between them. "Get the car boys," he snapped, "we're goin' for a drive to look for Harley."

"Look for her?" Rocco asked, eyebrows raised.

The barrel of the gun swirled around to face him, "yes, Rocco, to _look_ for her." He pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Joker's face fell. He just shot off the flag gun and the little banner popped out with a couple pieces of confetti. "SHE EVEN TOOK MY GODDAMN GUN!?" he snarled and threw it across the room.

As it hit the ground, it suddenly went off, shooting off into the darkness, which was promptly followed by a howl and giggling growls from the hyenas. It must have hit one of them but the Joker didn't notice, he fell sullenly into a chair near the table and kicked up his legs as he massaged his forehead carefully.

"How am I supposed to run a business if the secretary runs out on me?" Joker whined to himself.

"Uh, boss," Rocco said quietly, trying to get his attention. There was no reaction, however, so he spoke up a bit, "Um, Mister Joker?"

"What?!"

"I think I know where she might have gone…"

This caught his attention. The Joker sat up and looked at him. Rocco passed over the morning's paper, which looked like it had been uncrumpled and taped together. That's when he saw the headline.

"The Unauthorized Biography of Harley Quinn," the Joker read aloud. "A controversial tale of how a once doctor of psychology-"

--

"…turned into a patient within the very Asylum walls she was assigned to work within…" Bruce replied trailing off for a moment, listening to the rattle of his words above the droning news in the background before looking up at Alfred. "Who would write such a thing?"

"I do not know, Master Wayne," Alfred replied with a sigh, "but I do know that if you are late to the meeting at Wayne Enterprises again, Mister Fox will..."

"Wait!" Bruce interrupted, straining his neck around to see the television, "Alfred! Turn that up!"

Moving out of the way and using the remote to turn the volume up, Bruce Wayne could now see the red flashing words above the anchorwoman, "AUTHORESS MISSING!"

The screen switched to reveal a reporter on the scene. "It isn't clear what exactly happened here today, but from eye-witness reports," he narrated as the camera panned over a burning house and car that the fire department was still attempting to put out, "that once purple car there pulled up to the house and two bodies were struggling inside. Then, from what the neighbor's heard, a scream was let out and then the squealing of tires…"

Yet again, the screen flipped to a pre-recorded interview with the neighbor, "She was a quiet girl, a very nice girl. She went to college and all that! She was such a respectable girl!" The woman being interviewed began to sob. "That's why you don't mess around with those madmen!"

The anchor woman nodded as the neighbor was pulled back into a small screen cap in the top corner of the screen, "a terribly shocking day for everyone. Police are still looking for any information people can give about this crime. So if you have seen or know anything about Beetrix Oroft's disappearance, contact Gotham Police immediately."

Wayne looked down at the paper again. _The Unauthorized Biography of Harley Quinn__ by Beetrix Oroft_.

"Hey Alfred," Bruce called to him.

There was a heavy sigh. "Of course Master Bruce, I'll give Mister Fox a call and let him know that you will be unable to make the meeting today." He scuttled off into the other room as Bruce finished the last of his coffee, staring down at the photo of the new controversial author. _What an idiot._


	3. Honk If You Love Chaos

"The Joker's car wasn't the one to speed out of here," Jim Gordon heard from behind him as he began finishing up his report.

He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. "It had to be."

"No, the Joker's car was in no condition to leave this place."

"Are you suggesting that the car sitting and smoldering in that driveway over there…" Gordon frowned as he turned to the figure of Gotham's Dark Knight, who was gazing off towards the house and vehicle. "How can you tell? Forensics couldn't even figure out what model it was."

"The Joker," explained Batman, "has a line of custom cars at his disposal…and this car is unmistakably his."

He held up a small chunk of the bumper, which was charred but the signature green that it had been painted was still resilient and a sticker, only peeling slightly remained on it.

_Honk if you love chaos_

"Who'd be crazy enough to blow up the Joker's car?" Gordon asked, looking over the twisted metal to his left. He received no answer though.

Batman was gone.

--

"Stupid piece of foreign shit!" the Joker fumed as he gave the car a good kick. "Why people buy these is completely beyond me. These tins are worse than any chicken joke I've ever heard!"

Steam was leaking out from under the hood and small ticks and sputtering noises were erupting at random intervals from within the car. It was obvious that there was no possible way to get it running again but he had Murphy raising the hood to look at the engine and Rocco crawling underneath it anyway.

The Joker leaned up against the car and pulled a yo-yo from his pocket. He tied a slipknot at the end of the string and slipped it around his middle finger; casually he began to play. The ball rolled itself up the string and unraveled almost to the end before being tugged up and having the process start all over again.

He sighed.

"Murphy! Rocco!" he asked, boredom oozing through his voice, "are you two done yet? We've got other things to do besides having you two playing grease-monkey all day."

Murphy's head was the first to pop out. He took a quick glance back at the engine, wiped his greasy hand on his forehead and sucked in a quick breath.

The poor guy was scared. Joker knew it. Didn't matter though. It wouldn't save him.

"Well?"

"It's shot, boss," Murphy replied, wiping his forehead again, "there was a crack in the engine and now there's liquid in it. Even if we sit and wait for it to drain out – it'll just fill up again a mile down the road…"

"And what's the word from the bird trapped under the car?" Joker growled.

"This frame's no good either, Joker," Rocco reported. "It's so bad that the fuckin' wheels are barely respondin' from the steerin' one. That's why we were all over the road like that."

"Well guys," he replied with a shrug. "It's been one hell of a laugh with you for this past year and a half but unfortunately, no one's going to pick up three hitchers sooooo…bye!"

"Hold on!" Rocco shouted and jumped to his feet.

Joker turned slowly to him, yo-yo still rolling up and down the string casually. "Yes?" he inquired innocently, a grin starting to replace his smile.

"You just can't leave us here to die!" Rocco proclaimed. "After all this time, you're going to just leave us in the middle of nowhere? You stingy, ungrateful bastard!"

"Murphy," Joker said, not looking at him, eyes staring down Rocco's, "do you feel the same way as your counterpart? I mean, you have been working for me just about the same amount of time."

Murphy's eyes darted between the grinning madman and his old friend. They were locked in a staring contest. He wondered if he stayed quiet enough they would just forget that he was –

"Well?" the Joker snapped. "Do you feel the same way?"

"No – no, I don't, boss," he replied, stumbling over his words.

It was true though. He enjoyed being in Joker's gang. The pay was just about as high as the thrills; he was clothed nicely, fed nicely and respected by all. Being in the gang also came with simple pleasures such as laughing hysterically as either Harley or Joker attempted to strangle the other with whatever was lying around as well as the carnal pleasures… Such as the many nights he found himself alone in a cheap hotel when he had the night off, masturbating to the accidental encounter of Harley in the shower.

Of course, the Joker nearly castrated him for the incident after he had found out – but it was worth it. If he died that day when it happened, he could've died happily.

"No?" the Joker asked; a mixture of pride and sympathy for the pathetic man filled him. "Give me your gun."

"No – boss! Mister Joker!" Murphy pleaded. "Please don't shoot him!"

"Oh, I swear I won't shoot him," Joker said sweetly and then snarled, "now gimme the Goddamn gun!"

With no other choice, Murphy gave an apologetic look over towards Rocco who was white as a ghost as he tossed the Joker the gun. The clown caught it gracefully and then suddenly shot Murphy in the head.

"Good night, Murph," he smiled, "it was wonderful working with you."

"You fucking maniac!" Rocco screamed and ran over to the body. He kneeled beside it and through the tears he choked out again, "you fucking maniac!"

"Oh, no," he replied lowering his voice, "I'm not a maniac. I actually killed him quite humanely. It was fast and relatively painless."

The yo-yo fell once more and came quickly back up into the palm of his hand with a small smack sound. "It was good timing though," he said as he began to giggle uncontrollably. "Just in time for my daily chore of –"

He flung the yo-yo and the sting wrapped tightly around Rocco's neck, slipknot still around his own finger, making a sort of leash.

"Walking the dog."

The eruption of his laughter made Rocco flinch. He was stupid. He realized this now. If he hadn't been that stupid dog the Joker was now showing him he was, him and Murphy could've been alive and if they had any luck that Harley had – they could've been back in the gang within a week.

"Now come on, _Waggles_," the Joker sneered, "let's go. On all fours."

They walked like that for about a quarter of a mile; Rocco leading on all fours and the Joker following leisurely behind, occasionally giving the rope a small tug.

There was a rumble in the distance behind them. A car was coming. Turning their heads they both could see the tiny outline of it. They knew what it was.

"Sorry, buck-a-roo," the Joker laughed, "that's my ride and they don't accept mutts on the _Dark Knight Express_."

He ripped his arm back with a swift tug and the yo-yo's string cut through Rocco's neck.

Gargling noises, gasping – nothing.

Unhooking his yo-yo and stashing it within his pocket, Joker pulled up his pant leg and took a pose like one of the whores lookin' for a ride in Gotham would do. The Batmobile came to a hault next to him, and he let his trousers' leg fall back down around his ankle.

The roof opened on the vehicle revealing the Batman. He eyed the scene and his foe carefully and then with a smirk asked, "need a lift?"

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


End file.
